Sins of the Mother
by Adred Lightfoot
Summary: COMPLETE: Follows on from 'Party Night', a story arc in three tasty chunks. Narcissa plots, Snape protests and Avery packs a suitcase. Read 'Smoke and Mirrors' next. No fluff. Much snark.
1. Chapter 1

**The sins of the Mother**

(a tale in three parts)

Chapter one

Sunday morning at Malfoy Manor,

or

The morning after the night before.

Narcissa thought that she would be lucky to find more than a handful of times in the last fifteen years when she had felt so alive. It was a common belief, she thought, that one felt most alive when staring death in the face. But she had never found that, not in the darkest, bleakest, most terrifying moments of her existence.

_Voldemort is back!_

But, this morning …. she reached her arm across the lip of the fountain to trail her fingers in the clear, cool water. The early morning sunshine glittered on the water as if it was alive, and happy to be so. Narcissa leaned over to catch a glimpse of her own reflection, and smiled a little at what she saw. So lovely, so very lovely to behold. Irony twisted her lips into a smirk, as she considered the truth, that beauty was only skin deep. At least, in her case. But, to some men, certainly to the type of men she knew well, it was enough.

_Voldemort is back!_

She noticed that her fingers trembled slightly as she withdrew them and shook them, and glanced towards the manor. Most of the windows on the first floor were still draped, muffled to the light and purity of the morning, the rooms behind dim and stuffy, bodies twisted beneath the sheets soiled with sweat, semen and blood, air sour with the exhaled fumes of alcohol and rich food, chandeliers still trembling with cries, shouts, moans and screams.

_Voldemort is back!_

But he was not one of the bodies lying spent in the guest rooms of Malfoy Manor. He was still weak, she had heard, holed up in some secret place.

_Hopefully far from here._

Her eyes scanned the entire length of the house, across the first then the second floors, working out which room Lucius was most likely to be in. It had not been a large party, probably no more than fifty guests, but then Lucius' gatherings tended to take up rather a lot of room. She had seen him with many women last night – inclining his pale head as he spoke, graceful fingers brushing bare arms, the palm of his hand placed on the small of a back as he edged past, meaningful silent glances exchanged across rooms.

Many women. And also men. He had spoken to them all last night. There was no-one he had not had some intimate moment with, except her. But she had become resigned to that, that the best she could ever hope for from Lucius in public was the most chaste of dry lips on her cheek and a formal proffered arm.

Not that she ever slept alone after these parties either. Only one person was usually that lucky, and that was Severus Snape. He was renowned for it - over the last fifteen years it had evolved from being a hilarious joke to a foregone conclusion and, to her knowledge, he had only ever broken his apparent vow of chastity once, when the Dark Lord had demanded it of him for a particular type of magic.

But soon the other revelers would be awake, and the taunts would fly at him again, because they had all seen him climb the stairs with her, her hand resting on the soft velvet of his arm, his head inclined towards hers, her in that scrap of a gown that barely covered her breasts. How would Severus bear it? Would he sneer, in that most delightful, practiced way, and admit that he had gone with her because she had begged him to? Would he betray her, to save face? Or would he play to her, and give this tenuous link to her future happiness some substance?

Was she able to get him to trust her, or would he force her hand, and make her take this all the way? She did not want to. She knew that her years as Lucius' wife had worn her courage, however it had honed her cunning.

_Voldemort is back!_

Her stomach churned. She folded her hands on her lap and closed her eyes, feeling the breeze caress her face and run the abandon of its hands through her hair, and she breathed slowly, forcing her throat to relax, calming the fear that made her want to be sick. The water of the fountain was soothing. Birds sang. House elves shuffled in the rose garden behind the wall to her right, and she heard the occasional metallic snip. Gravel crunched underfoot on the path to her right.

She opened her eyes to the approaching figure, dressed in black even on this most beautiful of summer mornings. She studied him and wondered again, did his appearance make him the creepy, sardonic, bitter and cruel man he seemed to be, or did he use his appearance more creatively than first glances assumed?

"Severus," she greeted, as smoothly as she could.

"Narcissa." He clipped his stride, turned on his heels and sat beside her.

There was a long silence. She started at her hands, occasionally flickering her eyes towards him. He was staring across at the manor, his aquiline profile quite composed.

"I would like an explanation," he said, finally, in a dry tone that he probably used on his students. He looked at her when she did not immediately reply.

"I'd have thought last night was enough explanation," she replied, after a moment.

"No," was all he said.

She resisted his tactics. Lucius did this, left long silences in the hope she would feel uncomfortable and try to fill them. She was more than used to it, she did not know how good at it Severus was. She thought carefully, and said, "I used you, Severus, and I'm not sorry. I can only thank you for …. all you did."

"Or did not." The ghost of a smile graced his lips.

Narcissa felt warmed by hope, but forced her thoughts back into focus: "I kept my part of the deal," she said, "Not only that: if you don't be seen to be partaking, they'll stop trusting you. You have too many grey areas for their liking." She took a deep breath. "I didn't lay a hand on you. Now I must know, will you keep our deal to yourself?"

He looked at her. He examined her eyes, then her face, her hair, and glanced down the length of her body. "Actually," he said, "I awoke around four to find you with your arms around me."

There had been nothing remotely appreciative in his examination of her, which worried her. "Unconsciously so," she said, quickly, knowing it to be the truth.

"Nevertheless, not one hand, but two," he said.

She caught a sharp breath, then to cover her impatience, made a frown. "It must have been terrible for you," she said, with only the slightest sarcasm. "I certainly didn't -."

"Narcissa," he said, softly, arching a brow, "rest assured, I don't for one minute think that you find me attractive."

She blinked, forced a smile and altered her approach. _Sympathy._ "I'm nervous. Bear with me."

"You are asking if I will keep our secret? I want to know first, why you begged me to stay with you? What do you get from this? And _please_ –" he rolled his eyes "- don't tell me you're secretly in love with me." .

She had begged, he was right: she had taken his hands and murmured to him, her lips brushing his ear, her nose filled with the pungent herby smell of his hair. It could have been erotic, if one could have had an erotic experience with the asexual Snape.

Her thoughts were leading her astray, and she shoved them aside.

"Avery had me lined up for himself," she said. "You must know what Avery's in to. He arrives with a suitcase."

Snape glanced away into the distance again. His expression was unreadable.

"I wasn't trying to be the one who broke the will of Solitary Severus Snape," she said. "It was not a ploy to get you into my bed. I did not see you as a challenge or a sexual mystery to be illuminated. I did not desire you, nor want you to desire me. I was not looking to ruin your reputation. I needed your protection. I thought I might at least be able to rely upon your, ah, reputation."

"You've been with Avery before. Many times."

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, bitterly. "Avery likes that."

At last, a flicker of interest in the depths of his eyes – or was it a reflection of the sunshine? "Still," he said, "I've never noticed you complain. On the contrary, you have seemed to appreciate each other's company."

"Well," she said, with the softest hint of irony, "one can have too much of a good thing."

Snape shrugged, studying her face. "He did not seem to miss you. I saw him disappear with Ignatia Winterton. And Arabella Lyon. And Samuel Lafayette."

Narcissa shuddered. It was uncontrolled and spontaneous. He watched her, still giving nothing away.

"No doubt Lucius will demand a full account," he said.

"He's probably not the only one."

"We should have discussed this further last night," he said, with a thoughtful frown.

"I thought you would think I was trying to … inflame you with details," she said, quite truthfully.

Snape grimaced and suddenly laughed. "I've told you many times before when you've tried to seduce me, Narcissa - you expect men to fall at your feet. I can assure you there is nothing more likely to turn me off. I did wonder if last night was a new approach at seduction. Yet now I suspect you were genuine."

She bridled, then recovered herself, and said, "We'll agree then, on the details of the seduction."

"Let's see," Snape murmured, resting is chin on his fist. "I was incredibly frustrated, almost frantic from years alone. I needed to be coaxed, but once free from the shackles of my self-imposed solitude –" he broke off, looking almost amused, but with the hint of something else, another emotion.

"I like to be licked," Narcissa said, softly, "all over. Special attention to my … to certain areas. It's my trademark. Lucius will expect that I demanded that of you."

"Oh?" he asked, perhaps sharply, certainly a different tone than she was used to from him.

"No doubt I would have reciprocated the favour," she replied. "I like to have control. I don't get it very often, so it would have been an ideal opportunity."

"I will defer to the voice of experience," he said, silkily, though she noted his jaw was set and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. "I'm happy to let you deal with the erotic details, Narcissa."

"Sit down, Severus," she said, "We have to do this together."

"They will have to think me too coy to reveal details of my conquest. I'm not in the mood for a lesson in what Lady Malfoy likes to do in bed – which would be, you must agree, more information that I will ever need."

She cast him her most lascivious smile. "If I'd had you, Severus, you would be bragging about it."

He stared at her, and gave a weary sigh. "Don't start flirting with me now, Narcissa. Though we may find ourselves – unlikely bed partners." He gave an odd smile.

And it will bring us closer, she thought: allies, Severus and I! In the space of twenty-four hours she had come from having no-one to help her, to being presented with this …. gift, if one could refer to Severus in that way.

By the Dark Mark, what was she thinking? – but, she knew, she had no choice. But, after last night and what she had learned, Severus was possibly as dangerous to her as he was her only chance, their only chance ….

Voldemort … 

"Alright," she said. "Thank you, Severus."

"One further question - what happens next time?"

She had already considered this, at length. "There are many factors in this, many other people, all with their own agenda. I would be … pleased to share a chaste bed with you again in the future."

" I'd like to add, at this point, that I wouldn't like either of us to think we had a bond of responsibility towards the other."

"Of course not," she assured him.

Then she said, standing and smoothing out her rumpled skirts: "By the way, were you aware that you talk in your sleep?"

His eyes snapped to her, his expression frozen. "I do not."

"You do." She wet her lips with her tongue. "Gobbledygook, mostly."

Snape thrust out his chin, his dark eyes glittering as the sun caught them alight – not like on the water, she thought. She wondered, suddenly, if she had moved too fast. But she pressed her point – there was no going back now.

She swooped and kissed his cheek, quickly, before his surprised flinch moved him out of range. "Don't worry, Severus," she said, kindly, "we're still even. I never had any interest in potions."

And she turned on her heel and walked back towards the house. _I did it_, she thought, triumphantly. She walked lightly, feeling like she wanted to dance, almost drunk on the elation of the chase, the thrill of her secrets: _there was a point to all this, her life, her pain and her humiliation, after all._

_For Draco_, she thought_, for Draco!_

Voldemort was back, flesh and blood, and that could only mean one thing for Draco.

But his mother had a plan.

**In the next installment - blackmail in 'Sins of the Mother' Chapter Two!**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sins of the Mother**

Chapter Two

Dare and Double Dare,

or, Call My Bluff

Diagon Alley was packed with people during the last days of the summer holidays. Hogwarts students, from the small and insignificant to the tall and posturing, jostled in and out of the most popular shops with fraught-looking parents in tow.

The stench of all the people was revolting.

Draco and his father left Narcissa at the junction of Knockturn Alley. She paused, only briefly, to watch them together. Draco was already walking with something akin to his father's confident gait. Their similarity chilled her. Soon he would be old enough to appreciate all her weaknesses: despising her, as his father did, for her greed and pride.

_And the other five._

Draco turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, with a slightly intrigued expression on his fair face. Lucius did not look back. That did not matter, it was usual and, anyway, it wasn't as if he didn't have people all over the Wizard's Quarter watching her in his stead.

Narcissa walked on down Diagon Alley. It made her feel slightly ill, panicky even, to walk alone among so many people, so many with whom she had nothing in common and never would have. It was not often she walked here alone, if she was not with Lucius she was with one of her female friends.

A brief memory of a visit to Filigree Street, over there on the left, made her smile. Three sisters shopping on a day like this, forsaking herbs and books for lingerie and ready-made cosmetics. Three sisters, not knowing at all that their bright futures were to be maimed and twisted by the vision of a Muggle's talented bastard –

She stumbled and stopped, swaying as people brushed past her, suddenly fearful that even thinking about him for too long would render her intentions open to him. She knew it had not been beyond his powers, once, to know her thoughts.

She shook her head and turned to look into the window of the nearest shop, unseeing of its wares. Three sisters: Andromeda dead, Bellatrix possessed, and the last … the last … would not be swallowed whole by this – and there was a better future for her child than the one her husband had planned.

Narcissa focused on her reflection in the window glass, looked into her own eyes, preparing herself. Pride was her worst sin; but she was prepared to redeem herself today, _if only today._

The crowds behind her snared her attention, and she saw him.

She did not turn immediately, but watched to see if he saw her. It did not appear so. He loped down the alley, forging an easy route through the masses. His lank, black hair fell across his face and he swept it back with the flick of a gloved hand. His gaze was directed ahead, somewhere below the eyeline and above the waists of whoever happened to look in his direction. He looked, as usual, perpetually irritated by a thousand problems.

_Here_ was someone she had something in common with.

Snape looked, at first, to be heading towards Knockturn Alley. Narcissa followed him, her heels slipping over the worn cobbles. Then he halted, very suddenly, and pulled a length of folded parchment from his pocket, which he consulted at length. She slowed her pace, expecting him to continue, but he abruptly turned and just stopped short of walking right into her.

There was a long, awkward moment as his eyes met hers, and she watched the ponderings over his shopping list cleaved aside by the surprise and inconvenience of meeting her.

"Narcissa," he said: and that was it, no further niceties.

"Severus. I was hoping to see you here."

He raised a brow, just a fraction.

She dropped her tone. "Try to look less shocked," she said, smiling. "And be wary, we're being watched."

He stiffened slightly, but to his credit did not move his eyes from hers. _Accustomed to being watched._

"Are you here with -?"

"- and his men are everywhere."

"I'm a trifle busy," he said, gesturing with his list.

"Shops will be late closing today," she said. "We have time."

The beetle-black eyes glittered. He said, "I am not sure what it is you want time for, Narcissa. Surely what happened between us last week is settled."

"No," she said. "Not at all. You're in danger."

"Then we should not be seen together," he began, though he looked unconcerned.

"On the contrary," she said, conjuring a coquettish smile and smoothing an imaginary wisp of hair. "They must believe there is a tryst. Come with me."

He looked mildly astonished, and did not reply for a moment, toying with his shopping list. Then he said, to her delight, "You have somewhere in mind?"

The room at the Leaky Cauldron was one of many private rooms designed for many private purposes. This room was in the attic, away from prying eyes and ears, and contained a large, miraculously clean, double bed, a rather rickety love-seat, and its own, if miniscule, bathroom.

Severus had carried a tray up three flights of stairs for them, and was pouring the tea, his brows pulled down in concentration. He must be uncomfortable, she thought: unnerved, but as usual in fairly good control of himself. It seemed to be his permanent state - his permanent _waking_ state.

She slid her cloak from her shoulders and laid it over the foot of the bed, revealing a yellow dress with a modest neckline. As a Metamorphmagus, she had several wardrobes filled with dresses in differing proportions: more hips and breast on this rack, less hips and breast on another.

He wouldn't be impressed by extrovert voluptuousness, so she had chosen the subtle middle-ground. The craft of the yellow dress was purely in the cut and the fit.

Would it matter what she wore? _It might._

There were no chairs or stools in the room, she had arranged beforehand for them to be removed, but she didn't want to approach the bed just yet. There was still a chance it wouldn't have to go that far anyway. There was no guarantee how he would react.. So she stood by the window and glanced out through the grubby lace curtain, down onto the heads of the crowds in Diagon Alley.

"You can at least begin to explain," he said, finally, stirring the tea.

"You're under surveillance," she said, watching his expression. "The Dark Lord is suspicious of you."

"Of course he is, I have spent years apparently working for the other side." He held out her drink.

Confident. Dear gods! 

"Did you know he was having you watched?"

"I'm aware of the possibility."

She sipped her tea. The china of cup and saucer clinked. Her blood rang in her ears. "Lucius thought I had done something amazing, inspired, to get into your bed."

Snape gave a brief and unexpected smile. It made him look almost human.

_And therefore vulnerable._

"I must admit," he said, "to having received an Owl from Avery congratulating me. He even took the time to offer me some tips."

Narcissa shivered as gooseflesh sprang up all over her body. "Lucius believes I'm in a position to encourage an affair."

A heavy silence closed around them. Distantly, maybe in a room below them, came a woman's throaty laugh. A sudden breeze drove a smattering of rain across the window panes. The Potion's Master's smile had gone.

"With you," she added.

"What Lucius thinks is of no consequence," he said, quiet and cool.

"I can't …." She took a deep breath. Her teacup rattled in her hands and she put it on the table. "The Dark Lord wants someone in place to befriend you, if that's at all possible, and Lucius wants the – honour - of it being me."

Dark humour twisted his lips. "Only Lucius would consider it an honour to pimp his wife."

She didn't like his expression, and prattled breathlessly, "I thought perhaps … there is a way, some solution, we can both get what we want –"

"Of course there is." His voice was silky and laced with anger. "You can say you tried, but I've categorically spurned your advances." He set his cup down and turned to the door.

She clutched his arm. "Severus –"

"You started all this, Narcissa, by persuading me into your bed in the first place!" His face had turned white and pinched. He tried to remove her from him, but she clung tighter. "I will not be drawn into this!"

"It doesn't have to be – like that!" _You creepy, gutless bastard, don't you dare turn your back on me!_

"Goodbye, Narcissa."

She struggled against his strength, sinking her fingers tightly into his clothing. "We can turn this situation to our advan – AH!" He gave her a hard shove and she stumbled, landing hard on her knees. It was painful and humiliating. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her neatly coiled hair began to unwind around her face. _Control it, it's not as if this hasn't happened thousands of times before!_

He had not noticed her state, or did not care. He was at the door, his hand reaching for the knob. Narcissa reached for her wand, stowed in her bodice. "_Obfirmo_!" she cried, and the lock faintly clicked.

He did not even look at he as he reached for his wand.

"_Accio wand_!" she commanded, and it was neatly plucked from his hand and swished past her to land on the bed.

This time he did look at her, and it frightened her. And, if she was going to be honest to herself, shot a thread of pure excitement up her spine. She picked herself up off the floor, as gracefully as she could, her wand held flush by her thigh.

"You will listen to me, Severus," she said, her voice low and shaky, closing the distance between them.

"Listen to what?" he seethed. "The ravings of a woman with no sense of her own complete stupidity? Pull yourself together, Narcissa, and stop being so ridiculous!"

Frustration got the better of her. She flew at him with her wand raised, and did not curse him but slashed at his face with it. Before he had a chance to defend himself, his cheek was opened, crimson spilling onto the pale of his skin.

His blow was not as hard as Lucius', and it was with a flat palm rather than a fist, but it briefly impeded her assault. In that instant, her wand wrist was held in a tight grip, her wand snatched and tossed into a corner of the room.

She twisted her body against him, elbowing him and trying unsuccessfully to knee his groin. He wrapped a strong arm, like a brace, around her and dragged her towards the bed and his wand, but she still struggled, and in the end he had to let go, almost flinging her away from him, and casting her a filthy look as he reached across the bed and retrieved his weapon.

She ran to the door and threw herself against it, covering the lock with her hand. He did not move from his place by the bed. He simply stared at her, holding his wand in both hands. He looked livid. His chest heaved. A rivulet of blood ducked under his jawline, and trickled down his throat.

"This," he hissed, "is a very distasteful scene."

"H-hear me out," she whispered.

"I don't believe anything you can say will alter the conclusion to this ….this," he faltered, at a loss for words. "Why would you think I might consider … _you_ ...as my … _lover_? Could my position be made safer as a result of it? I very much doubt it, after this – _display_." He glowered at her, his lips thin and cruel. "As they say, out of the cauldron and into the fire."

The sob of frustration rose from her chest as her knees gave way, and she slid down the door onto the worn carpet. She let the tears flow, her hands slack on her lap, looking at him.

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and said, nastily, "This time, begging will not work."

"You are a Death Eater!" she cried, "You have lived a life dedicated to Voldemort's perversities! You have done some terrible things in your life, Severus, yet the thought of fucking me is just too much?"

He did not answer for a long moment, only her ragged breaths broke the silence. Then he tucked his wand inside his cloak, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Fucking isn't what you want," he said. "Fucking you wouldn't be a problem, Narcissa. Not even for me. If it came to it." He caught a deep breath of his own, absently wiped his hand across his jaw, then stared at the smear of blood. "But you want more than that."

She nodded, and wiped one cheek, then the other.

"I do not and will never love you. Love is what you want. Anything less would hurt and make idiots of us both."

"Love?" she whispered. "No. And I don't believe you know the meaning of the word."

"Precisely."

"It's not what you think," she said.

"I'm sure it's not."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"So, what is it you're suggesting we do, meet here for tea every week?" His lips twisted into a broad and unnatural smile as she nodded. "And Owl each other love letters too, I suppose. All for safety's sake? Don't waste my time. There would be nothing for me in this – arrangement. The Dark Lord may be suspicious, but I have nothing to hide."

"He's – unpredictable -"

"- needs my expertise and my position at the school. I will be safe for those reasons. And as for Lucius –""

"Not if I tell him."

"Tell him what?"

He simply did not see it coming. She wiped her cheeks again. "That you're working for Dumbledore."

"Of course I am!"

"That you're s-spying for Dumbledore."

For the first time, he looked as if he was taking her seriously, his eyes sharp in the mask of his expression. But he waited.

"You talked in your sleep," she said. "That night. About the Potter boy, about Dumbledore, secrets and promises and terror of discovery. About not wanting to come back to us -_ them_."

"Of course I worried about returning," he snapped. "Loyalty is not something to be cast aside lightly! It could have been death for me!"

"You talked about having a built-up resistance to Veritaserum."

"Veritaserum!" he scoffed. "You know the Dark Lord has no need for that!"

"You're also clever," she said. "You have the reputation of a strong mind. You've studied Occlumency. He's _concerned_."

A crease of surprise, or worry, appeared on his brow, then vanished. "Are you attempting to blackmail me into having a relationship with you?" He had tried to inject incredulity into his tone, but hadn't quite pulled it off.

"If it were that simple," she said, "you would thank me." She got to her feet again and smoothed her dress, then went to sit beside him. Her breath was unsteady, and she found to her surprise that she felt acutely aroused – most likely by the sudden violence and emotion and the fact that _she had the creepy bastard where she wanted him._

_It felt good._

He looked at her warily, but he didn't look exactly anxious. _Something was missing from the equation._

He was waiting. Too patiently.

_He will keep denying this and force my hand. _

_He is no good to me dead._

The blood was congealing on his face and the cut was seeping. "Come with me." She took his arm and led him into the dingy bathroom, and ran the tap.

"I can clean myself up," he said, testily, but took in the flaking mildewed mirror above the sink that barely reflected light and shadow. He gave her his handkerchief and she wet it and began to wipe his cheek. He was taller than she. She stood close enough for him to have a view down the top of her dress if he glanced down, which he didn't. Close enough for him to smell her,_ and he had to breath, damn it._

She could smell him. _Herbs. Mustiness._

She leaned in to rub gently at a troublesome spot, and trailed the wet cloth down his throat and just under the fold of his collar, even though it had not run that far.

His Adam's apple ducked in his throat. He thought she was trying to seduce him - amusing, because she really wasn't, this wasn't actually her intended goal.

But then – and she ran her tongue over the inside of her dry mouth – this was actually extremely erotic.

With him? 

His faint scent was familiar from the other night, and the heat radiating from his body…

_He's so unreachable…I may not get another chance…_

She felt curiosity getting the better of her.

_He as good as said he finds me attractive. _

"Surely that's it," he said, his tone flat and barely louder than a whisper.

Her gaze rested on his lips as she squeezed the cloth out in the sink, then concentrated again on the cut high on his cheekbone. She let her breasts graze his chest, and took his chin in her hand to angle it towards the light. He swallowed again. He was tense. She cleaned the cut carefully, and fell back slightly, dropping the cloth in the sink, to examine the damage she'd inflicted.

His eyes were on her. He was waiting, for a move, a word, something to resist or reason or swallow whole. He was wondering what she wanted, how to get out of this, what he might have to do, what he would do.

She knew this because she was Lucius' wife, and this was how she felt when he had her trapped. He had taught her these lessons well, she just hadn't realised how potent a feeling it was to have the upper hand.

She felt powerful.

But Severus … was still an unknown quantity?

_And it was **Severus!**_

But she felt _so_ powerful. It was intoxicating.

Untouchable Snape … 

Slowly, she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his. She thought he shuddered. She leaned her body into his, resting her hands on his shoulders: his shudder wasn't revulsion, not entirely so, she felt a good measure of his arousal. She kissed him sensuously, gently, encouragingly. His hands trailed fire down her back, and she let the delightful waves of lust wash over her.

But he breathed, "Narcissa, leave well alone what you can never have."

Her lips fell to his throat, her tongue teasing the soft skin where it met his collar, and felt his response despite his words. But his hands pushed her gently away. His eyes were glittering and his cheeks were slightly pink.

"I'm not that easy to blackmail," he said, reaching into his robes for his wand.

"_Obliviate_ would look highly suspicious," she said, quickly.

His arm fell, his hand empty.

"You can't risk his wrath," she said.

"There is no risk. I am not Dumbledore's spy." But his chest rose and fell heavily.

She shrugged, and smoothed a hand through her hair, which unravelled totally and fell about her shoulders. It gave her more time to think: the fog of her over-excitement was dulling her concentration.

"It doesn't matter what you said in your sleep, he knows we were together, and _I_ am trusted. He'll torture you until you admit, then he'll kill you. You are not so indispensable."

"I can't believe all this is just to get me into your bed."

She forced a laugh, stroked the fingers of one hand on his cheek in a mockery of affection, and pressed the palm of the other in the place where it would have most impact. "It isn't, Severus. It wasn't." She released him and stepped back. "I got carried away."

He didn't move away from her touch, as it if was a challenge, a show of strength: _I have faced fates worse than you. _Yethe looked thoughtful, and worried, and … understanding began to dawn across his face.

"If my body isn't the goal," he said slowly, "what is?"

"A potion," she said.

"A potion?" he repeated, as if amazed at the simplicity and apparent painlessness of her demand.

"A potion to emulate death," she said. "For Draco and myself. So we can escape."

He looked amazed. After a moment he said, "Have you any idea how dangerous _Reproba Decessus_ is?"

"Probably not," she admitted. "But it's our only chance." She clenched her fists at her side. "You can't imagine - the fear - as his mother, the fear I have for his future. I won't lose Draco to him, I won't!"

He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair. "It's a huge risk to you and Draco," he said. "To all of us. And if you were discovered after your escape -"

"Then we'll poison the Dark Lord instead -?"

He cut her off with a harsh laugh, which opened the cut on his cheek again and made him wince. "Not a chance!" He carefully touched the wound she had made. "Does Draco know of your plan?"

"No. I'll explain when it's done and we're free, it's safer that way." She felt a sudden threat of tears, so quick to rise to the surface again. "He is terrified of the things he might be asked to do in time."

"Oh," Severus said, almost dismissively, "thinking about them is often worse than actually doing them." Their gazes locked again. He was silent for a long moment, then made a small noise of – what she thought might be - frustration and turned back into the main room. She found him pacing between the bed and the window.

"I assume you wouldn't just settle for a torrid affair," he mused, shooting her a trapped look.

"I want the potion. But I must admit, that was … very –"

"Well, I'm not sacrificing my chastity and my professional morality all in the same day," he snapped, "so as long as that's perfectly clear."

_Damn it, I've had quite an effect on him. _

Or was it just that she had won?

She began to feel hopeful again. Unbearably so. "I want to do this soon," she said.

"The sooner the better if we have to keep up the pretense of an affair," he sniped, frowning thoughtfully. "The potion matures over three days and must be made under a full moon."

"There's a full moon in two weeks. And Lucius says that the Dark Lord will be performing another strengthening ceremony then. You'll need something, from Draco and I."

"Blood," he replied, still frowning. "Life force."

"I'll get it. I'll owl it to you."

He stopped pacing and looked into her face. "I can't see how you can hide yourselves from him. You're a Metamorphmagus, but Draco isn't."

"I will find a way, until Dumbledore gets rid of him forever," she said, firmly.

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know I won't just silence you forever?"

"You're working for the good side now," she smiled, "you don't do bad things any more. You're the Ministry's good boy. If you were prepared to prostrate yourself to the master you betrayed, just because Dumbledore asked you to, I think there is nothing you wouldn't do to keep on track."

He looked silently at her, then said, "I can protect Draco, you know."

For an instant, she considered his remark. But she knew she could not bear to stay any longer, and she did not want to go alone. And, of course, she would miss Draco too much.

"No," she said. She glanced at her watch. "I have to leave. I'm flattered, by the way," she added, slyly, "that you couldn't entirely resist me."

His expression cracked, he smirked a little. "But I did."

"I let you go."

He smirked a little more.

"Severus," she said, laying her hand firefly on his arm, "they say Death is the great leveller of men. But sex is too."

He stared back at her, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Narcissa, I would rather be judged by Death on the way I have conducted my disgraceful life, than by you on my sexual prowess. Fortunately, only one of you will be getting a full confession." He turned towards the door. "Don't forget your wand."

"I'm sorry," she said to his back. "I didn't mean it to come to this."

He took his wand out and touched it to the lock. "I erred. I felt pity for you, you took advantage of it." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I don't actually feel surprised. But if you're going to blackmail someone, Narcissa, don't then say sorry. It doesn't fit. Or have meaning."

He opened the door and left. She listened to his footfalls on the stairs till they vanished beneath the distant murmur of the pub.

Is that it? She felt a sense of anti-climax, and disquiet. Now it was over, it seemed to have been won too easily. What had he said about his own sins - _thinking about them is often worse than actually doing them_. And then, afterwards, this empty feeling.

It wouldn't last for long. She took up her cloak, and her wand, and followed him down the stairs. Two weeks, in fact. Then there would be excitement enough.

That thought sparked a small but lively flame inside her. She smiled at herself.

Stepping into the bar area, she paused to put on her cloak, and a quick glance told her how many of Lucius' men had witnessed their arrival and departure.

She ignored them happily: at that moment, it would not have mattered if Avery himself was pulling up a chair and calling for her favourite drink, though she did regret she would not be around to see the twisted little shit get what was undoubtedly coming to him.

She was leaving, and nobody would even know to stop her!

Smiling at no-one in particular, she smoothed her tousled hair, and went to meet up with her husband and son.

----

_A/N: 'Obfirmo' is Latin for 'lock, and my death potion combines the Latin for 'false' and 'death'._

**In the next installment - Chapter Three of 'Sins of the Mother: Snape brews the potion.**

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**'Sins of the Mother'**

Chapter Three 

The Mother's sin

or,

What's your potion?

The manor, her home for these last seventeen years, had been the stage for many a drama during that time. The over-dressed theatricality of the house, the grounds with mazes, weird topiary and The Zoo, the people and their costumes and affectations, intrigues and scripts.

Narcissa, unlike many of her circle, was familiar with Muggle theatre. She had a particular liking for Shakespeare's Macbeth, and had seen the play six times. She was therefore acutely aware, as she made her way briskly through the manor grounds, that the night might have been a scene perfectly set for a drama: the full moon washed the garden with an unearthly silvery beauty, the ancient stars winked in the clear sky, trees laden with berries bowed down before her.

A fitting display for her last night as Lady Narcissa Malfoy, but the beauty of it was almost painful, and she did not linger to reminisce. Her shadow was cast long before her, inseparable from the dark of her cloak and her altered hair, its tresses falling close around the contrived olive of her skin that would not reflect the light. She wanted to remain unseen to her audience until it was precisely the right time to go on.

_When shall we three meet again_…. Well, with Andromeda gone and Bellatrix in Azkaban, that wasn't likely any time soon.

Far behind her, the manor bustled with people and house-elves, in preparation for the Dark Lord's appearance. They wouldn't miss her, she wasn't of the inner circle and had only minor organisational duties to perform, most of which she already had. Tonight was a celebration of his return, with a ceremonial power-giving and traditional blood-letting on the side. She'd slipped away under the excited commotion as Avery and Lucius had arrived bearing the – currently live - Muggle sacrifice.

Not before she'd noted the look of morbid curiosity on Draco's face, with a sinking of her heart.

She followed the path towards the west garden, wand in hand – because one never could be sure what one might meet in these parts. The sharp, sinister lines of the Malfoy family crypt stood out from the hectic fronds of the trees and undergrowth. But she veered on a path to the left, away from the building: she had hidden what they would need already, and she would be there again soon enough.

_Freedom , within my reach …_

She ducked under low branches and dodged the undergrowth. Up close, the garden smelled damp and warm, sweetly past its best at the end of the summer. It ruled itself, here, where no-one came often. The path was all but concealed, the plant life dragged at the hem of her cloak and her gown. It curved around the impressive girth of an oak tree, and the crooked shape of a summer house came into view. It not quite been swallowed by the garden, standing slightly apart from the trees in a small clearing.

And quite alone.

Then, from its shadows a tall, thin figure in robes stepped.

"You're late." Snape's voice was hushed by the surrounding vegetation.

She walked towards him, pocketing her wand. The moon didn't flatter the hard angles of his features, but she found their familiarity was oddly welcoming.

Don't be sentimental, Narcissa.

She stepped nearer and a sudden animal noise nearby revealed a glint of his eyes as he turned his face slightly towards it. Then he glanced back at her, and there was an appraising silence.

Does he like brunettes? 

Finally, flatly, he said, "It's disconcerting how like Andromeda you look with dark hair."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and washed the pale-blonde appearance back in. When she opened her eyes again, even though she was certain he was, he didn't look remotely impressed.

The animal, maybe a badger, made a brief dash through the undergrowth, and his head again snapped around.

He's such a pessimist! 

Yet, quite controlled, he reached out and grasped the folds of velvet over her shoulders, pulled her to him and astonished her with a gentle but thorough kiss.

_He's done this before … well, possibly…well…._

It was actually impossible to tell. Slightly baffled, but slightly more curious, she leaned into the kiss, sliding her palms over his linen ribs, over the hard line of his wand tucked beneath his jacket.

He quickly caught her hands, withdrawing from the kiss, his eyes glittering, his brow sparkling with sweat. He led her through the open doorway of the summer house and pushed it shut behind them with his boot.

She gasped, staring around her at a room bedazzled by slender moonbeams that poured though cracks and holes in the wood and the slats of the louvered window shutters.

"You may assume that was for appearance's sake," he said, his voice barely a tremor on the dry air inside the ruin. He had already moved twice arm's length from her.

"Shame," she breathed, "but I wasn't followed."

"You don't know that."

"I'm very discreet," she smiled, " when necessary."

"I haven't time for silly games," he whispered, testily. "I'm required for tonight's activities-" he broke off, staring past her as if he would see through the walls. Then he took a quick, light step towards her on the creaky floor, his weirdly illuminated gaze fixing onto hers. She heard him catch his breath, as if he would speak, but instead he raised his hand and, with the speedy dexterity worthy of a man with a more interesting reputation, opened the clasp on her cloak and flicked the garment aside. His fingers briefly pressed a warning to her lips, which were parted in query and surprise, and her question left her mouth only as a muffled, incoherent 'ah'.

He hesitated, then his hands went to where silken laces criss-crossed her bodice from waist to chest, and yanked the ties so the bow unravelled. His cheek brushed hers, his breath was hot on her ear. "I laid warnings – you _were_ followed!"

He straightened and rapidly began unbuttoning his jacket, and threw that and his cloak onto the floor beside hers.

_He's bluffing._

He kicked the pile of garments into shape, then crouched and tugged at them, making a …. bed?

_He's not bluffing. _Her hands scrabbled feebly at her bodice, her mind reeling, her senses trying to seek out the source of his panic. She still sensed nothing, except his fear in the sharp scent rising from his skin. _Lucius? Avery? A house elf sent to spy? _

"Get down on the floor," he suddenly said, his voice pitched normally, but which sounded so loud in the small, hot space, with someone listening outside. He snatched her wrist and pulled her down to the floor beside him. She landed hard on her knee and an expletive escaped her lips.

"That's the general idea," he growled.

She bridled. Was this his idea of what a romantic encounter with her would be like? That she would let him - _Severus Snape, for Merlin's sake_ – order her around? As much as she had tried to lead him on, as much as she felt a curious desire to go where, reputedly, no woman had ever been before, this was not the way she had intended.

"No marks!" she snapped. "And this dress was very expensive!"

He bore her down to the uneven floor, leaning the length of his body against her, his face above her. His breath was quick, unsteady and soft on her face, and his heart was thudding against her arm.

"Who?" she mouthed into the shadow of his expression.

He shook his head very slightly, but otherwise did not move. She looked at a single beam of silver light that cut across the dark above his head, and listened to his breathing, the whisper of robes beneath her as she moved her foot slightly, the creak of old floorboards, call of a distant hunting kestrel.

How far will we have to go? 

She got her answer immediately, as if her thought had been heard: her chosen moonbeam blinked.

Her hand shook slightly as she brushed a lock of his hair away from his face. His eyes gave nothing away, although the tightness of his lips did. It was one thing to simulate a lovers' clinch for the benefit of a casual observer, and another to … well, she had flirted, teased and molested him, and he had not yielded.

How ironic he might now have to. Does he realise? 

Her heart hammering in her ribs, she ran her palm down his ribs and found his wand, slid it out of the shirt pocket, and set it down quietly where he could reach it: hers was beneath them, lost among their cloaks. She felt the wood quivering as she handled it – a warning from the disturbed spells he had laid in the garden.

A shadow slid past the cracks around the door frame, and Lady Moon cast the flicker of movement onto the wall facing him, and his brow gathered like a sky of storm clouds.

But still he did not move. She tugged at the buttons on his shirt and breathed, "For pity's sake, _fumble_!"

He laid his hand over the curve of her stomach, but it was not a lover's touch and wouldn't have fooled anybody. Impatiently, she knocked his hand out of the way and wrestled with the ties on her bodice again, cursing her choice of attire, but then he surprised her by reaching for his wand, pointing it at her bosom, and murmuring, "_Divello!_" and the two halves of her bodice fell slackly apart.

Past him, moonbeams blinked rapidly from one end of the house to the other. _Too tall for an elf._ But no footfalls or rustling grass:_ he's using a silencing spell_.

She gazed up at Severus. His eyes were shining, his nostrils flared. He laid his wand down again, not taking his eyes off hers. And she knew from his expression of grim resignation that he also knew exactly how far this would have to go.

And _still_ he did not move.

Drawing upon her experience, she raised her knee and rolled over until he was beneath her. This had to look realistic, so it had to be real, and somewhere, hidden, was the key to this man's pleasure.

He doesn't much look like he wants to give it up.

Then – ah, inspiration!

"Severus," she commanded, narrowing her eyes, "Did you think my sister Andromeda was pretty?"

Finally, begrudgingly – _beaten?_ – he nodded.

"He's gone –"

"No, he hasn't."

"He's – gone!"

"Yes, _yes_ –"

"My arm – the Mark – there isn't – _time_ - for –"

"Ssh! Just _enjoy_ it!"

The silence in the summer house was absolute. At least, whilst the blood thudding through her head subsided, it was. Gradually she became aware of the soft catch of her own breath, the rasping breath of the man under her, the occasional creak of floorboards beneath them. Beyond the thin walls, a slight breeze combed the grass, swung boughs and ruffled leaves.

Truly. Unexpected. How. Incredibly - 

Her hands rested on the very smooth skin of his chest as it rose and fell. He was damp with sweat. She pushed back tendrils of her dark hair, and let her gaze wander to his face: his expression was closed, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze turned inwards.

Somehow her unexpected victory did not feel quite right.

_Professor Severus Snape, his iron resolve withered, his intellect overwhelmed… Death Eater Snape, his power and pride cast asunder, reduced to being merely a man … Snivellus Snape with the bad manners and yellow teeth and big nose and lank hair …_

A sudden, slight feeling of revulsion washed over her, and she swayed a little, revealing a further small – or not so small - truth.

"You're still hard after –?"

"You flatter me."

"Did you not -?"

"Now you flatter yourself." His cold voice shook slightly.

"What?" 

He was so still, his eyes lightless slits in the sickly pale of his face. Then a faint sneer curled his lips, humourless and cruel. The icy truth washed through her, then the blood rose to her cheeks, leaving her feeling sick. "You utter bastard," she whispered. She got off him, as gracefully as the situation would allow. He immediately rolled over onto his side and began to rearrange his clothing with his back to her. She stared at his back and thought about hitting him, beating her fists against him, the fury boiling inside her.

"How _dare_ you," she whispered, bitterly.

"How dare _you_," he retorted in a low hiss over his shoulder, pulling his shirt straight.

She recoiled as if slapped. "I apologise," she said, making it clear that was the opposite of what she meant, "I had thought you were enjoying it."

He made no reply, buttoning his shirt.

"You _were_ enjoying it. Not even you could fake such a physical response on the spur of the moment."

She failed to bait him, he remained silent.

"And it's just bloody-minded and cruel – and – _masochistic_ to hold back like that!"

He glanced at her, and she realised there wasn't even a hint of victory anywhere on his face, and suddenly she felt as if she could cry, because if he hadn't done it to purposefully hurt her, there seemed to be no good reason why he should cause her such humiliation. She fought the sensation, and said, "Why Andromeda?"

"Because she is dead. Call it an inability to fantasise, a lack of imagination on my part, if you will. It was enough to provoke a physical response, but it was an incomplete illusion."

He controlled it from start to finish.

"Avery doesn't have that problem," she said through her teeth.

He looked at her, scrutinising her face. "Avery has problems with reality," he said, "I do not. The outcome, for me, might have been different had you remained yourself. That would have been real."

That almost sounded flattering.

"That almost sounded flattering."

"It was unintentional." He got to his knees and felt around for his wand. She picked it up and passed it to him. He sheathed it in his shirt pocket and got to his feet. He didn't look at her again, probably because she had not covered herself.

"There was a part of you that enjoyed it," she said, pointedly. "You did it to embarrass me."

"On the contrary, I _didn't_ do it, and the intention was not to embarrass you." He shook the dust and garden detritus from his jacket and put it on. "I am not some idle conquest for your over-developed ego. Neither am I blind to the fact our lie would have been discovered. I suggest we both remember we were forced to do it, and forget it ever happened." With his clothes back on, he was beginning to regain his normal cool, haughty tone. "It was Avery."

"What was?"

He gave her a brief, withering look, and turned towards the door. She struggled to her feet and began to address her clothing.

"The reason we …."

"Oh," she said. "Yes."

Moonlight poured into the house as he opened the door to shake out his cloak. Then he froze. For a long moment he stared, at nothing it seemed, then he said, "You let Avery know you were meeting me."

She stared at him open-mouthed. He turned his head and gazed back. Suddenly she realised that despite everything - the fact she didn't know him very well, the fact he slightly disgusted her and that she suspected he didn't like her very much either, and he would rather make her feel like a slut and a rapist than let himself enjoy her to its full conclusion – she was aware that after tonight, if he fulfilled his agreement, she would not see him again, and, oddly, she didn't like the thought of him thinking she was something she was not.

Which, judging by his expression, was exactly what he was thinking.

Does he think me that cold?

He judges me by his standards.

Who could break him down if I have failed?

He's one to talk about an over-developed ego.

"I must admit that in the past I have been known to have an audience," she said, coolly, recovering herself, "though in this instance, why would I want to jeopardise my plan?"

He glanced away, flicking his cloak once more and twirling it across his shoulders.

"I did want you," she said, watching his easy, cat-like movements as she drew the parts of her bodice together.

"Your aptitude for self-delusion never ceases to amaze me," he cut in, and she faltered at the look of disdain on his face. "You wanted to see yourself reflected in my eyes."

"Don't judge –" she began to protest.

"Don't offend!" he sneered, tossing his hair back from his face.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. This what was he thought of her? No, no, he was embarrassed. She felt hot again herself, prickly, disorientated. She pushed her hair back from her face, fighting to find a thought she could mould into words, feeling her plan slip away from her. "Severus –" She drew a sharp breath " – I'm sorry."

"Indeed." He gave a slight, unreadable smile, a grimace, not at her, or anything she could see. Then it seemed to strike him that she was being sincere, and he became still, looking back at her. The frigidity of his expression eased a little, but she assumed he was lost for words, for he said nothing more.

She groped for her cloak and shoes. "You'll still help me? Draco and I?"

He hesitated. "There has been a slight change of plan."

"What?" she asked, quickly. "The potion -?"

"- is ready."

"Then what change?" She stumbled to him, grasping his arm, looking into his face. "What do you know that I don't?"

"Many things," he said, his lips curled and thin. "As to what concerns you, now, is that the party is being moved."

"Moved? _Moved?_"

He knocked her hand away and pulled his sleeve back to reveal the mark of his Master on his skin. "I've been called."

"_When_?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

"Whilst I was fucking you?" she demanded.

He nodded, once.

"That's why Avery left?"

"I expect so."

"But that's good news," she almost cried, relieved. "I can – and Draco –"

A frown rumpled his brow. He almost looked confused. "Draco has also been called."

She sank back against the creaky door frame.

"Lucius didn't tell you it would be tonight."

She stared past him, unseeing, numb.

"Narcissa." He touched her arm, and repeated, sharply, "Narcissa!"

She shook her head.

"I found out only tonight. I intended to tell you before …"

She pictured her son as she had last seen him, his pale gaze on the Muggle girl they had brought for the blood-letting, the unchecked curiosity on his, oh, ever so young face.

After tonight, changed forever.

"I knew the Dark Lord wanted him," she breathed, "but not so soon. He's a boy. He's just a boy. He's still at school."

"Narcissa, he won't be marked tonight. He's too young. But the Dark Lord is interested in him. The potion will be useless by morning, and he will be returning to school with me."

"But I have to leave tonight," she whispered.

"He will not be able to go with you."

I can't stay any longer, my plans, I've planned so long for this.

"It will be another month," she whispered. "I can't survive here for another month."

"But he will be invited to the gatherings from now on, every month, at the full moon."

She suddenly beat her fists against him. "Don't you understand? I don't want to go through this again! This obsession with death and power – the things He makes us do – we're all turned into dark shadows of ourselves – my friends and my family – there is no beauty in the world – in my life – because of Him – how can there be joy in the killing of another – the humiliation of another – I want my life back! I want to be myself, and happy again!"

He had caught her wrists, and her tears were spilling from her cheeks onto his fingers, and she looked at them, surprised that she had begun to cry. "You knew," she whispered, "you knew!"

"What would I have to gain by deceiving you?" he demanded.

"I don't believe you." She twisted her hands, and he winced and released her. The Dark Mark was bothering him. She wiped her cheeks, trying to clear her head, think straight. "Where is the potion?"

"Under a rock behind the crypt."

"There's enough for two?"

"Yes."

She turned away to metamorphose, staring up at the moon, that reflected light, that revealed everything in its starkest definition.

I cannot stay, I must go tonight, but I can't go alone.

She turned back to him. "Severus, come with me."

His expression of complete astonishment was almost comical.

"I can't go alone. I'd be useless alone." She wrung her hands, not entirely for effect. "I haven't been alone, ever." She paused. "I'm frightened."

"More frightened than maternally concerned, it would appear," he remarked, acidly.

"Draco has obviously made his choice," she shot back. "I've failed him, acted too slowly, and I'll live with that. But I cannot live here! Come with me, you know He will kill you, He even said so in front of the others!"

His lips looked almost as black as his eyes, his skin waxy and unearthly. He said, almost blithely, "I may die in His service. That is my choice, and His."

"You're in Dumbledore's service, you idiot!" she snapped. "And where is he when your Mark burns you? He sends you into the lair! I'm offering you a way out!"

He looked back at her without emotion, and it almost seemed to her, because she knew what his response would be, that he was already dead. "Do what you must, Narcissa. I am His. There is nowhere I can go."

They stared at each other and the moment stretched out, and something inside her snapped, and she knew that she had been beaten. Her legs folded beneath her and she sank onto the grass.

I can't go, I can't stay.

"How can I go on?" she said to herself. "How can I pretend I didn't glimpse freedom?"

The plotting, the tedious Muggle-baiting, the parties, the frenzy of the blood-letting, the long nights with Avery, the longer nights alone wishing Lucius would come, watching Draco move farther away and farther away, seeing my friends change, feeling the elegance of my life crushed under the skeletal foot of a madman…

It was only when he spoke again that she realised he was still there. "We live with it," he said. His tone was bitter and gentle.

_Of course. He lives with this. Snape. With his intentional rudeness and his studied ugliness and emotional retardedness._

_I will not turn into that!_

But she met his eyes, and looked at him as he was, what he was revealing to her, almost the very truth of himself, that perhaps only mirrors and Dumbledore had ever seen before.

"He calls. I can't stay."

She nodded, but quickly added, "Severus, maybe …" it sounded foolish, pathetic, but she said it anyway "… maybe we could meet, occasionally. For a drink."

"Tea?" he said, almost sarcastically.

" - I'm not propositioning you."

"How sensible of you."

"Can we?"

He restlessly shook the folds of his cloak. "You think that it would help," he said, "to have a friend. To drink tea and talk about – what? This desperate affair? Our miserable lives?" His carefully-toned voice cracked a little, he sounded angry and impatient again: of course, he had to leave. "I'll dispose of the potion, Narcissa."

She listened to his departure, thinking about the things she had hidden in the crypt for herself and Draco, that must also be removed.

Draco.

A pang of guilt. She had been hasty to abandon him; that had been wrong. It was right that she stayed. There were many things she could do to help her - help them both - to survive this, whatever else happened.

A shadow passed over the moon: a cloud. Narcissa struggled to her feet, time was getting on and she wanted to clean herself up before her family arrived back home. Draco would need to rest before he was returned to Hogwarts. No, no, Snape would take him straight back: that would be fine; he was safe with Snape.

_Snape._ She smiled to herself, recalling the scene. He had triumphed over her again, but her anger had subsided. He was at best an ally, albeit a blackmailed one - at worst an interesting distraction. She could tell that he was smitten with her.

There was much to do, and think about, but not whilst she was covered in dust, leaves and splinters of wood.

She felt for her wand, murmured "_Lumos!"_ and, bathed in the golden light of her magic, turned onto the path home.

THE END of 'Sins of the Mother'.

**However, the Severus-Narcissa series continues with 'Party Fears Two', which is post "Half-Blood Prince".**

_A/N: I first came across the concept of Lucius having a zoo in Miyako's dark fic, Obsidian Faith (posted on Fiction Alley). It may be elsewhere too. I have stated that Andromeda Black is dead for my plot, although this is a matter for debate as to whether she is just absent up to OotP. 'Divello' is Latin (surprised?) for 'divide'._


End file.
